Why You Oughtn't To Watch Scary Movies
by lydia the eleventh
Summary: Meet Kitty Morland, your typical, collegebound eighteenyear old with a penchant for horror flicks and watch her navigate the pitfalls of life at Pulteney College, fulfil cliches and possibly stumble into a romance ... Northanger Abbey of the 21st C!
1. Meet Kitty

**(Author's Note: I've noticed a lack of _Northanger Abbey_ fics floating around here recently, and, brought on by a fit of inspirationional madness, came up with this monster of a decidedly strange stripe: _Why You Oughtn't To Watch Scary Movies_ - an updated _Northanger Abbey_, set in the present day, where Catherine Morland, "horrid" novel reader extraordinaire, bound for Bath and thence to the decidedly less-than-spooky Northanger Abbey with the charming Henry Tilney, quiet Eleanor, and bossy General, becomes Kitty, the normal, horror-film-obsessed, college-bound teenage girl, who takes her Spring Break with the Tilney family to their home - Northanger.**

**Beware, I intend to take warranted liberties with the plot in updating it - certain things, like the Bath assemblies, don't always translate too well and, as already noted, I've changed Kitty's obsession with "horrid" novels into horror flicks. But please don't burn me for it! I intend to stay in the spirit of Jane, and hopefully produce a tongue-in-cheek little parody. Please R&R!)**

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If I were to describe Kitty Morland to you in a single word, it would be _normal_. The sort of normal that, if not varied by the 18th year of one's life, becomes the burden of a 9 – 5 job, a grey cubicle, Styrofoam coffee cups and an endless train of malfunctioning printers, faxes and copiers. The sort of normal that would be called comfortingly routine at best and mind-numbingly, stomach-churning-ly, heartbreakingly stupid repetition at worst. _That_ sort of normal.

The wonder about Kitty's normality was that she didn't mind, really. Her stock was so thoroughly normal – for, in the Morland family, the past seven generations of men and husbands had been well-regarded lawyers and the past seven generations of women and wives had been stay-at-home mothers – that being un-normal had a bit of a stigma to it, really.

That being said, one of the few interesting facts about Kitty, born Catharine, Morland, was that she was the second eldest of a sprawling family of eight. The poor girl only had two years of something like attention before Mrs. Morland popped out triplets, and so, from a very early age, became fairly independent. She loved Sesame Street but hated Barney, played with both Barbies and Jimmy's Power Ranger action figures, ate mud and worms like any good toddler, threw nicely timed hissy fits, and looked like a perfect angel when she was asleep.

By the time she reached Kindergarten, Kitty, no child prodigy, had mastered the basics of the alphabet, and could count to three. Though her parents and teachers saw the spark in her and, while not wholly unintelligent, she was incurably headstrong, and willfully resisted learning like any good student. She excelled at kickball, dodgeball, and tag, and had a strong arm, which she made great use of in making the kids who transgressed her good nature cry.

Of course, while it seems her natural athleticism would make her extraordinary – it didn't. She was a good goalie for her town's soccer team, a determined sprint freestyler on the local USS swim team, and a fair hand at doubles tennis, but not the athlete that is lifted on their teammate's shoulders, gets the winning points, or has articles written about them. Sports for her, at least at the beginning, were a way of avoiding schoolwork, piano lessons, and the silly tea parties her classmates threw. She ran, swam and volleyed her way through elementary school tolerably well, made friends, had fun, and generally pleased her parents.

Junior high, and the changes that came with it, was a complete shock. Suddenly, Kitty found that sports were just there to keep her thighs skinny, her abs toned, and her rear end shapely. She started wearing a bra when she filled out enough to merit it, she grossed out when she discovered she'd spend one week a month for the next forty years bleeding and having her insides twisted in knots, and was shocked to discover that boys didn't have cooties. Kitty painted her nails, discovered the glory of chick-flicks, slumber parties and Truth-or-Dare, and managed to scramble herself into a boyfriend by the second week of 8th grade.

The next step, high school, passed in an utter blur. Kitty managed a B average, to the delight of her parents and teachers, was in detention less that five times, played the second string of Varsity soccer, swam her way to 7th in the state in the 50 free and 4th in the 100 free, and managed to be 9th on the ladder of the Tennis team. She sang (badly) in the chorus, stick-figured her way through Art, and, in all other extracurriculars, did tolerably. Socially, she had her little group of friends – a mixed bag of Jocks, Nerds, Gamers, Nice People, Thespians, and general Misfits – who kept each other out of the worst trouble and got themselves into minor mischief and mayhem when the occasion called for it.

Of course, like all good teenagers, Kitty had a strong penchant for cheesy and occasionally bloody horror flicksof any sort, and took delight in each an every manifestation. Her parents sighed, but knew that teenage girls would be teenage girls, and knew that she'd eventually stop swooning over the various twists and turns and frights. Kitty, however, had no intention of stopping.

Now, in the all important category of looks, Kitty was … normal. She wore a size three, had a 26 in waist, and a figure generally deemed attractive. Her face was plain and undistinguished, save in an abundance of freckles and a slightly bent nose. Her hair gave her an ungodly amount of trouble, so she sheared it all off to the ears in her junior year. A fit of independence had left her with more piercings than she wanted in her ears, but she kept them for old time's sake. She didn't love Abercrombie or Target but shopped there anyway, at least when she had the money for the former and if not, the latter suited her just as well. She wasn't a prom queen but she didn't hide in the stands either; she had a date when she needed one but not usually between.

When the time came … Kitty applied to normal colleges. She didn't want to go to a huge school, but not a small one, either. She wanted to get out of Connecticut, but stay in New England. She knew she couldn't get into an Ivy, but, at the same time, didn't want to go to a state school, either. Thus, when the acceptance letter came from Pulteney, a mid-size liberal arts school two hours north of home and safely out of state, she knew she had found her match.

So, with this portrait of Kitty Morland in mind, I present her to you as she was on her last night in her own room …


	2. Leaving Home

**(Author's Note: This is my last update for at least ten days; I'll be gone with no hope of a computer or keyboard. Tea and crumpets to my lovely reviewers, to whom I am eternally indebted (I'm a bit of a Review-Wench), and hope I don't try their patience too much with this I was trying to get at some of the panic of leaving home ... but I don't think it came out too well. R&R, m'dears!)**

_Sheets, pillows, quilts, and general bedding necessities – _Check.

_Pants, shirts, skirts, blouses, blazers, dresses, jackets, tees, beaters, tanks, shorts, sweats, jeans, shoes, sandals, yadayadayada_ – Check.

_CrapTop, ShamRa, IPlod, FrellPhone _– Check.

_Life's savings: $163.02_ – Check.

_Assorted Crap I Don't Feel Like Listing But Need Anyway _– Check.

_Stephen King Boxed Set, Saw 1, 2 & 3, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Nightmare on Elm Street, and other favorite flicks_ – Check.

Kitty Morland tossed the list over her shoulder onto the bare mattress and kicked one of the myriad suitcases fondly.

"Mom! Da! I'm ready to go!"

Her father's heavy steps sounded on the stairs, and, lo and behold, he appeared, breath heaving (Mr. Morland being far fonder of doughnuts and coffee than fruit and exercise), camera in hand.

"All that! Kit, you're going to college, not halfway across the world!"

He shook his head and sighed, hefting the two biggest suitcases.

"Right, then."

She smiled nervously and grabbed another bag to carry to the waiting SUV.

"I'll come back for the laundry basket. James!"

Down the hall there was sluggish stirring, grumbling, and hurried footsteps as Kitty's brother appeared in the doorway, yawning.

"Wha'?"

"Take Kitty's other suitcase down to the car!"

"Daaaaad," he groaned, "I's five in the (yawn) morning!"

"Do it, Jimmy."

James favored Kitty with a dazed glare, ruffled her hair, and staggered down the stairs, boxes in hand.

"Do you want anything to eat before you go?"

"Nothing."

Her father left her alone for a last moment; whispering goodbye to her sleeping brothers and sisters she dragged a duffle bag down.

"Good morning, Mrs. Allen," she tried to smile, over her gaping yawn, managing to wave politely instead at the newcomer sitting at the table.

In the kitchen her mother, flustered and rushed by her daughter's impending departure, poured coffee for their summer neighbor – the Mrs. Allen. Mr. Allen taught Physics at Pultney College, and had left the week before. Mrs. Allen, who stayed to manage the closing of their cottage, was soon to depart for Pultney herself and, hearing that Kitty was headed to Orientation that day, offered her a ride.

Mrs. Morland protested – no, they should take their daughter to college – and Mr. Morland coughed and demurred, but then his firm had called – it was urgent, really – and Mrs. Morland remembered she had to take Henry, Jane and Cassy to their championship swim meet that day. There was nothing to be done. Kitty would go with Mrs. Allen.

"Oh, there's the dear! You look good, Kitty, very good!"

She flushed.

"The summer does her good, I think," Mrs. Morland said, "More coffee?"

"No, thank you. I'm glad to help, you know. Very glad. As I was saying to Mr. Allen before he left, Kitty's a very good girl. Very good. And very lucky to get into Pultney – she's very lucky, indeed! Well, very good, very good."

Mrs. Allen, it need not be said, was very fond of the word, 'very,' and was, all in all, a rather effusive individual given to hyperbole, excessive chatter and too fond of cream in her coffee. Her favorite subject of discourse was on fashion, and though she did have an acute sense of it, Kitty had enough of the latest vogue three years ago.

"Call when you get there, dear."

Mr. Morland stepped in and nodded.

"Your car's packed, Mrs. Allen. Kitty – that's all?"

"Yes."

Mrs. Morland put down the coffeepot; Mr. Morland his paper, and both embraced their daughter. Kitty smiled.

"Have fun, Kit."

"Will do!"

They proceeded out the front door, cheerfully waving.

Tired, Kitty snuck the bud of her IPlod into her ear, ignoring Mrs. Allen's busy chatter.

Waves of sound poured into her ear, soothing and calm, against the nerves welling in her stomach. 156 Fullerton Crescent faded behind her, into the early-morning lake mists and sunrise. Two hours until Pultney.

Two hours until life after High School.

Two hours until being an unknown, friendless, hopeless, naïve horror-movie-addict stuck in Pultney College with only her Craptop for lucid company and an unreliable DVD player to boot.

Two hours.

Kitty was, needless to way, a little nerved.


End file.
